Читать книгу Wedding Party Collection: Once A Bridesmaid...: Here Comes the Bridesmaid / Falling for the Bridesmaid - Avril Tremayne, GINA WILKINS - Страница 9

THREE

TO: Jonathan Jones

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Wedding of the century

Quick update, darling...

Invitations are underway—wording attached. We’re going with smart/cocktail as the dress code, although obviously I will be wearing a long dress as befits my bridesmaid status.

Off to check the venue in the morning. It shows every indication of being divine.

Next we’ll be working on the menu, but having now eaten at two of Leo’s establishments I have no doubt it will be magnificent.

I wish I could meet a chef. Well, obviously I HAVE met one now, but I mean one with jumpable bones!

Sunny xxx

PS—Leo rides a motorbike! And, no, I still haven’t done it, but soon.

TO: Caleb Quartermaine

FROM: Leo Quartermaine

SUBJECT: Coming along

Sunshine has the invitations under control and I’m attaching the save-the-date we’ve decided on. If I don’t hear from you in the next day or so I’ll go ahead and get this out as per the War and Peace-sized invitation list.

Meeting Sunshine at South in the morning. And if she raises any concerns you’ll have to arrange bail for me because I’ll kill her.

I’m growing my hair—hope you’re happy. And I am apparently having a pair of shoes custom-made for me. Was that your idea? Because I WILL get you back.

LQ

‘Wow,’ Sunshine said out loud.

South had to have the best position of any restaurant in the whole world.

Well, all right, she hadn’t been everywhere in the whole world, and she was sure there must be oodles of well-situated restaurants all over the planet—in fact she would look up ‘most scenic restaurants in the world’—but it was spectacular.

The restaurant was perched on the edge of the cliff. But in some mind-blowing engineering feat the entrance to it was positioned actually over the cliff and doubled as a small viewing platform. The floor was transparent, so looking down you could see a landscape of trees curving steeply to the beach. Looking directly forward, you could see the deep blue of the ocean; looking to the side and backwards gave you a view into the restaurant. No tables and chairs in there yet, but the space was sharp and clean, with a seemingly endless use of glass to take advantage of the view.

She breathed in the ultra-fresh air. It was windy, and her hair was flying everywhere, but she didn’t care. This venue was perfectly...perfect for a wedding celebration.

Perfectly perfect. That had been Leo’s description of the private room at Q Brasserie. He’d been annoyed with himself over the way he’d described it, which had made her want to hug him, because it was just not something to be annoyed about.

Not that he was the cuddly teddy-bear type you could pat and jolly out of the sullens. He was impatient and standoffish and most of the time just plain monosyllabic cranky. There was no reason at all to feel that he needed to be hugged more often.

And yet...she wanted to put her arms around him right now.

Wanted to be close to him, held by him. Comforting. Comforted.

Dangerous, debilitating thought.

It had to be the proximity of the ocean messing with her head. For which she should have prepared herself before her arrival. Instead here she was, not knowing when or how hard the jolt would hit her—only knowing that it would.

So she would force it—get it done, dealt with, before she saw Leo. She didn’t want to slip up in front of him again.

She took a breath in. Out. Looked out and down, focusing her thoughts... And even though she was expecting it to hit, the pain tore her heart. The memory of Moonbeam was so vivid she gasped.

Moonbeam had believed she belonged to the ocean—and Sunshine had always felt invaded, overrun, by the truth of that when she was near the coast, even when she was far above the water, like now.

One of her most poignant memories was of their last time at the beach. Darkness, rain, and Moonbeam exulting as she raced naked into the waves. ‘This is where I’m me!’ Moon had yelled, and Sunshine, laughing but alarmed as she tried to coax her out of the freezing, dangerous, roiling surf, had called her a crazy Poseidon-worshipping hippie.

Three days later Moonbeam was dead.

Sunshine touched her sun and moon charms. She longed so keenly for her sister just then she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. The loneliness, the hunger to be so close to someone that you were like two sides of the same coin, was like a knife wound. But not a sharp wound; it was a festering wound that wouldn’t close, wouldn’t heal.

‘Sunshine?’

She took a moment, forcing the depression to the back of her consciousness with a shake of her head as she’d trained herself to do in public. Defences securely in place, she turned, smiling, to face Leo, who was standing at the doors leading into the restaurant.

‘Hi, Leo,’ she said.

Leo pushed the heavy doors further open, inviting her to enter. She started to lean up to kiss him as she crossed the threshold, but he jerked away before she could connect and she stumbled. He grabbed her elbow. Released it the nanosecond she regained her balance.

Ah, okay! She got it. He didn’t want her to kiss him.

In fact...thinking back over their few meetings...she would go so far as to say he didn’t want her to touch him in any way, ever.

And she’d just been daydreaming about putting her arms around him. Way to give the man a heart attack!

Was it just her, or did he have a problem touching all women? And if it was a problem with women generally, how did the man manage to have sex with a human?

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he had a blow-up doll.

Maybe it wasn’t just women.

Maybe he had a problem touching men and women. Maybe he had a problem touching pets. And blow-up dolls.

Maybe he had an obsessive-compulsive disorder, hand-washing thing going on.

Hmm. She’d read something that might help in that case—about systematic desensitisation...or was it exposure therapy...?

In Leo’s case it would mean touching him often, to get him to see that nothing diabolical would happen to him just because of a bit of skin contact.

She could do that.

It would be a public service, almost.

A favour to a man who was going to be family—well, kind of family.

What was more, it would be fun.

‘Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Leo. I took you by surprise, didn’t I?’ She bit her lip. ‘I should have learned by now not to launch myself at people when they aren’t ready! I once ended up in an embarrassing half-kiss, half-handshake, nose-bumping, chokehold situation. Has that ever happened to you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, just to make sure it never does I’ll give you an indicator before I kiss you in future—say...puckering up my lips like a trout, so you’ll know it’s coming.’ She stopped and thought about that. ‘Actually, I wonder why they call it a trout pout when women overdo the lip-filler? Trout don’t seem to have excessively large lips to me.’

He was looking at her lips now.

‘Not that my own lips are artificially inflated, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ she assured him, moving further into the restaurant. ‘They’re just naturally troutish. If trout really do have thick lips, that is. I definitely need to have another look at a photo of a trout.’

Leo’s gaze had moved on to her hair. In fact he was looking at it with a moroseness that bordered on the psychotic.

What the hell was going on in his head?

‘Is something wrong with my hair?’ she asked, and flicked a hand at it. ‘Do I look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket? Because it’s windy out there.’ She reached into her bag—an orange leather tote—and pulled out an elastic band. Bundling the tousled mess of it into a bunch at the back of her head, she tucked the ends under and roughly contained it. ‘There—fixed,’ she said. ‘I need a haircut, but I’m not sure how to style it for the wedding so it has to wait. I have a great hairdresser—actually, I used to date him.’

‘Another one?’

‘Another...? Oh, you mean someone else I used to date? Well, yes. Anyway, Iain—that’s my hairdresser—says he needs to see the dress first. Some people might say that’s a little neurotic, but he’s a genius so I’m not arguing. And, of course, if I did argue it would be a pot-kettle-black thing, because I’m just as neurotic. I can’t design your shoes, for example, until I know what you’re wearing.’

He looked a heartbeat away from one of those glowers he supposedly didn’t do. It was his only response.

‘That was a hint, by the way, to let me know what you’re wearing.’

‘Yep, I got that.’

Silence.

‘So!’ she said. ‘What do you think? About my hair? Should I keep the fringe? It won’t grow out completely in two months, but it should be long enough to style differently—say, like...’ She pushed the fringe to one side, smoothing it across her temple.

‘I like the fringe,’ Leo said.

Words! Yay! But he was still frowning.

And now he was looking at her dress.

Okay, so it was a little tight—hello! After two nights in a row at his restaurants, never mind yesterday’s two-minute noodles, sugar donuts, and family block of chocolate, what did he expect? But nothing that remarkable. Kind of conservative. Just a nude-coloured woollen sheath. V-neck, knee-length, three-quarter sleeves, no fussy trim.

His eyes kept going, down her legs to her shoes. Five-inch-high nude pumps.

‘Problem?’ she asked, when his eyes started travelling back up, and she must have sounded exasperated because that stopped him.

At last he looked in her eyes. ‘You look good—as usual.’

Oh. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and actually felt like preening.

‘But I don’t want you to break your neck wriggling around in that dress and tottering on those heels. The building is finished but there’s still some debris around that you could trip over.’

And we’re back!

This was going to be a long day. A long, fun day. He was just so irresistibly grumpy!

She stepped towards the windows. ‘This is just brilliant!’ Turned to shoot him a broad smile. ‘Are you going to give me a tour, Leo?’

He nodded—and looked so uninviting that Sunshine almost laughed. Well, there was no time like the present to commence his therapy and start touch, touch, touching!

Brace yourself, Leo darling.

‘Yes, but be careful,’ Leo was saying, oblivious. ‘And leave your bag—it looks heavy.’

Sunshine dropped the bag on the spot. ‘Tell you what,’ she said, walking back to him, ‘I’m just going to hold on to you so you don’t have to worry about the state of my fragile limbs.’ She took his arm before he could back away. His arm felt hard and unyielding, like a piece of marble. Or petrified wood. Petrified! Perfect. She beamed up at him. ‘Lead on, Leo.’

His jaw was shut so tightly she thought he might crack a tooth.

Oh, dear...oh, deary me! This was going to be good.

* * *

This was bad, Leo realised.

Actually, he’d realised it the moment he saw her standing on the viewing platform outside, looking glamorous and yet earthy. And wistful. And...sad.

So she was sad—so what? She recovered like lightning, didn’t she? Like the other times. There was no reason for him to want to... Well, no reason for anything.

And her hair was annoying! Out on the platform the wind had been blowing it every which way and she hadn’t given a thought to the tangle it was creating, and then she’d shoved the mess of it into a band as though it didn’t matter. She should care about her damned hair the way every other woman he’d ever dated cared.

Not that he was dating her.

It was destabilising, that was all, to have his perceptions mucked around with.

As was the way she’d cast that expensive-looking orange leather carry-all thing onto the floor—as though it were no more valuable than a paper shopping bag.

And the fact that she never wore nail polish.

The way she could make her eyes twinkle at will.

And that fresh flower smell of hers.

The jolt when she took his arm and looked up at him with mischief printed all over her face like a tattoo.

He didn’t want to feel gauche when he pulled away from her touch and nearly caused her to face-plant—and then embarrassed because she laughed it off and blamed herself when he knew that she knew the fault was his. Because Sunshine, he was coming to realise, was no dummy.

And he certainly didn’t want to feel disapproving, like a damned priest, just because she was dating two men simultaneously and didn’t love either of them. Because she was right about one thing: who was he to lecture her?

Leo flexed his arm under her hand, which felt disturbingly light and warm and...whatever. It was nothing. Meant nothing. It was just her keeping her balance. The same as holding on to a railing.

He took a slow, silent breath. ‘Let’s start with the kitchen,’ he said, and led her though swinging doors into a large room of gleaming white tiles and spotless stainless steel surfaces. ‘Everything in here is state of the art, from the appliances to the ventilation system.’

Sunshine let go of his arm—relief!—and turned a slow circle. ‘It’s kind of daunting. Although I think that about every kitchen.’

‘You don’t like to cook?’

‘I just do not cook. I can’t. I did once boil an egg, although it ended up hard like the inside of a golf ball.’ That stopped her for a moment. Distracted her. ‘Have you ever peeled off the outer layer of a golf ball?’ she asked. ‘It’s amazing inside—like an endless rubber band wrapped round and round.’

Not exactly a riveting fact, but she did seem to have an interest in the oddest subjects. ‘You boiled it too long,’ he said. Yeah, I kind of think she figured that out herself, genius.

‘I ate it, but I haven’t boiled an egg since. And, really, why boil an egg when you can pop out to a café and have one perfectly poached with some sourdough toast?’

‘And that’s the only thing you’ve cooked? The egg?’

‘I’ve made two-minute noodles—as recently as yesterday.’

‘Didn’t you help out at home when you were a kid?’

‘That was the problem.’ She ran a finger along the pristine edge of one of the cooker tops. ‘My hippie parents are vegetarian. It was all bean sprouts, brown rice and tofu—which I actively detest—when I was growing up.’ She gave one of those exaggerated shudders that she seemed to luxuriate in. ‘Tofu casserole! Who wants to cook that?’

She opened an oven, peeked inside.

‘You’re clearly a lapsed vegetarian.’

She turned to face him. ‘Capital L, lapsed! From the moment I bit into a piece of sirloin at the age of fifteen—on a Wednesday, at seven-thirty-eight p.m.—I was a goner. I embraced my inner carnivore with a vengeance. Meat and livestock shares skyrocketed! And two days later I tried coconut ice and life was never the same again. Hello, processed sugar! I don’t have a sweet tooth—I have a shark’s mouth full of them!’

‘Shark’s mouth?’

‘Specifically, a white pointer. Did you know they have something like three hundred and fifty teeth? Fifty teeth in the front row and seven rows of teeth behind, ready to step up to the plate if one drops out.’

This was more interesting than the make-up of a golf ball, but not quite as intriguing as the calorific benefit of a passionate kiss.

And he wished he hadn’t remembered that kiss thing—because it came with a vision of her kissing the Viking embalmer.

Sharks. Think about sharks. ‘The only thing I know about sharks’ teeth is that they can kill you,’ he said.

‘Hmm, yes, although the chance is remote. Like one in two hundred and fifty million or something. You’ve got more chance of being killed by bees, or lightning, or even fireworks! But that was just an illustrative example. So! I’m a processed-sugar-craving carnivore, to my parents’ chagrin.’ She stopped. Took a breath. ‘Seriously, I must have the metabolism of a hummingbird, because otherwise I’d be in sumo wrestler territory. You know, hummingbirds can eat three times their own weight every day!’ She ran a hand down her side and across her belly. ‘Not that I can do that, of course,’ she said sadly.

‘No,’ Leo agreed. ‘You’re not exactly skinny.’

A surprised laugh erupted from her. ‘Thank you, Leo. Music to every girl’s ears!’

‘That wasn’t an insult. I’m a chef—I like to see people eating.’

‘In that case, stick with me and you’ll be in a permanent state of ecstasy.’

And there it was—wham!—in his head. The image of her licking the glaceé off her spoon. Ecstasy.

He swallowed—hard. ‘You could take a cooking class.’

‘I think the cooking gene was bored out of me by the time I left the commune.’

‘The commune? So not only are your parents hippies but you lived on a commune?’

‘And it was not cool, if that’s what you’re thinking. Less of the free love, dope-smoking and contemplating our navels, and more of the sharing of space and chores and vehicles. Scream-inducing. If you have any desire for even a modicum of privacy do not join a commune.’ She did the twinkle thing. ‘And, really, way too much hemp clothing. Not that I have anything against hemp—I mean, did you know the hemp industry is about ten thousand years old? Well, probably you didn’t know and don’t care. But you have to admit that’s remarkable.’ Stop. Breathe. ‘However, let’s just say that I don’t want to wear it every day.’

Oddly enough, Leo could see her wearing hemp. On weekends, down at the edge of the surf, with her hair blowing all over her face and her polish-free toes in the water.

It must have been the mention of the commune, because that was not a good-time girl Sunshine Smart image.

Enough already! ‘Let’s move on,’ Leo said.

‘What about plates, cutlery, glasses, serving dishes? You’re sure everything will be here in time?’

‘Yes, it will all be here. And it is all brand-new, top-quality, custom-designed.’

‘Not that I have any intention of telling you how to stock your restaurant...’ She bit her lip. ‘But can you send me photos?’

Leo sighed heavily. ‘Yes, I can send you photos.’

‘Excellent. And can I see the bathrooms?’

She took his arm again, and he didn’t quite control a flinch. Thankfully Sunshine seemed oblivious, although he was starting to believe she was oblivious to approximately nothing.

Escorting her into the men’s and women’s restrooms as though they were out for an arm-in-arm stroll along the Champs-Elysées felt surreal, but Leo knew better than to argue. He wouldn’t put it past her to start imparting strange-but-true facts about the toilet habits of some ancient African tribe if he did, and his nerves couldn’t take it.

At least she looked suitably dazzled by what she found. Ocean-view glass walls on the escarpment side, with the other walls painted in shifting shades of dreamy blue. Floors that were works of art: murals made of tiny mosaic tiles, depicting waves along the coast. And everything else stark white.

‘I could live in here—it’s so beautiful!’ Sunshine marvelled.

‘And I will, of course, send you a photo of the toilet paper we’re using,’ Leo deadpanned as they walked back to the dining area.

Sunshine looked at him, struck, lips pursing. Leo could almost see the cogs turning.

‘You know,’ she said slowly, ‘I read something somewhere about a pop star who has red toilet paper provided when she’s on tour, so do you think—?’

‘No, I do not,’ he interrupted. ‘Forget the red toilet paper.’

The nose was wrinkling. ‘Well obviously not red. I was going to suggest a beautiful ocean-blue. Or sea-green.’

‘No blue. Or green. You’ll have to content yourself with your victory over my growing hair.’

Sunshine laughed, giving up. ‘It’s coming along very nicely.’

She ran her hand over the stubble on his head and his whole body went rigid.

Leo stepped away from her, forcing that hand to drop and simultaneously dislodging her other hand from his arm. ‘And so are your eyes,’ he said, just for something to say—and didn’t that sound bloody fatuous? How could eyes come along? They were just there—from birth!

Although...hmm...something about them wasn’t right. Her pupils were a little bigger than they should be, given all the light streaming into the room.

Why were they standing so close that he could see her damned pupils anyway? It wasn’t a crowded nightclub. They were the only two people in a big, furniture-free space. There was nothing to bump into. No reason for them to occupy the same square foot of floor. He took another step back from her.

She was considering him with a blinking, slightly dazed look that worried him on a level he didn’t want to acknowledge.

And there went that tic beside his mouth.

‘I saw my parents yesterday,’ she said, and her voice sounded kind of...breathy. ‘They like the new natural look—as you could imagine. Mum talked about sending you a thank-you card, so brace yourself for some homemade paper and a haiku poem. Apologies in advance for the haiku!’ Stop. Little laugh. ‘But strangers are doing a double-take when they look at my eyes now, which makes me feel a bit naked.’

‘Don’t knock naked. I’ve had some of my best moments naked,’ Leo said, and wondered what the hell was happening to his brain. Disordered. That was what it was. You didn’t go from talking about hair to eyes to nakedness. At least he didn’t.

In fact there was altogether too much talk of underwear, orgasms and sex between them as it was, without tossing naked around.

He took yet another step back. Tried to think of something to say about homemade paper instead, because he sure knew nothing about haiku poetry. But Sunshine was giving him that dazed, blinking look, and he couldn’t seem to form a word.

‘Yeah, me too,’ she said.

Leo had a sudden vision of Sunshine naked, lying on his bed. The almost translucent white skin, the long chocolate hair. Voluptuous. Luscious. Steamy hot. Smiling at him, sea-eyes sparkling.

He shook his head, trying to get the image out of his head.

And then Sunshine shook her head. ‘So! Tables!’ she said, and took hold of his arm again—and this time it seemed to hit him straight in the groin.

Leo, looking everywhere except at Sunshine, had never enthused so happily about inanimate objects in his life. The choice of wood for the chairs; the elegant curved backs; the crisp white tablecloths and napkins; the bar’s marble top and designer stools. And still his bloody erection would not go down!

Go down. Sunshine Smart going down. On him.

Bad.

This was bad, bad, bad.

Walking a little stiffly, he showed her the outdoor terrace. Talked about welcome cocktails. Described the way the decking had been stained to match the wooden floor inside. Back in. Suggested positions for the official table. Indicated places for dancing—except that Caleb had told him that dancing was likely to be off the agenda, so why he was pointing that out was a mystery. Just filling the space with words. Any words. Waiting for that erection to subside.

And at the end, when she looked at him with those twinkling blue and green eyes of hers, he still had a hard-on and he could still—dammit!—imagine her naked. On his bed. Kneeling in front of him. Walking towards him. Away from him.

Help!

‘Can you email me the layout so I can refresh my memory when I need to?’ Sunshine asked. ‘Oh—and tomorrow I’ll have the invitation design to sign off. Are you happy for me to do it, or would you like to see it?’

‘I’d like to see it,’ he said, and couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. Because He. Did. Not. Care.

‘I could email it.’

‘No. Not email.’

Sunshine pursed her lips. Her ‘thinking’ look—not that he knew how he knew that.

‘I really do have to be in the store tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Some new stock is coming in and I have a very specific idea for the display. And you’re working tomorrow night, right?’

‘No—night off,’ he said, and was amazed again. He never took a night off.

She brightened. ‘Great. Where shall we meet?’

‘I’ll cook.’ Okay. He had lost his mind. He was not going to cook for Sunshine Smart. He never cooked for girlfriends. And she wasn’t even that. Not even close to that. Even if he did want to have sex with her.

Damn, damn, damn. Goddamn.

Sunshine’s eyes had lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘Really?’

Could he back out? Could he? ‘Um. Yes.’

‘At my place?’

No—not at her place. Not anywhere. ‘Um. Yes.’ So he had a vocabulary problem today. Brain-dead. He was brain-dead.

‘Just one teensy problem. Most of my kitchen appliances have never been used.’

‘I love virgin appliances.’ Arrrgggghhh. Again with the sexual innuendo. He was clearly on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

‘In that case you will have an orgasm when you walk in my kitchen.’

Orgasms. Oh. My. God.

Sunshine checked her watch. ‘And, speaking of orgasms, I’d better go.’

Huh? What the hell?

‘I’m being taken to that new Laotian restaurant the Peppercorn Tree tonight,’ she said, as though that explained anything. ‘I checked the menu online. Very excited!’

Okay, he got it. Whew. It was the thought of food making her orgasmic.

And then her words registered. ‘Being taken’. As in date.

‘Gary or Ben?’ He just couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking.

‘Neither of them. Tonight it’s Marco.’

Marco. Marco? Three men on a string now? Not to mention the calligrapher. And the hairdresser. And there was probably a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick-maker in there somewhere.

‘You sure there was no free love on that commune?’ he asked, and thanked heaven and hell that he sounded his normal curt self.

‘Love’s never free, is it?’ Sunshine asked cryptically. And then she smiled. ‘That’s why I’m only interested in sex.’

Before Leo could think of a response she tap-tapped her way out of the restaurant, clearly with no idea he was having a conniption and might need either medical or psychiatric intervention.